SO, my brain was very kind to me this morning: it granted me a very nice dream, a dream that contained everything I love. (Well, almost everything.)
It began with a friend buying me a gift. A deluxe super nice tri-fold edition of a YAMATO movie (curiously, VHS), but the packaging and design was SO beautiful, and I say this as an Art Director who has executed and produced over 1,000 books; I treated each book as an object of beauty: the book should be beautiful, the reader should love to gaze on it, hold it, even smell it. (I will never ever forget the smell of the freshly pressed ink of the Star Wars soundtrack double LP in the summer of 1977).
Anyway, the YAMATO package design was wicked cool. It unfolded as a triptych, in three parts: the first holding the title and literature, the second the movie itself (VHS!) and the third a slim but elegantly designed book of concept art of all the YAMATO characters.
I was so ready to cum.
The EVIL TEACHER yelled at me, “YOU MUST WRITE!”
The Evil Teacher was SUCH a cliché of a librarian! Mousey. Short hair. Glasses. Conservative skirt. LOAFERS, for fuck’s sake! She said,
“YOU MUST WRITE A REVIEW OF THE YAMATO MOVIE YOU JUST RECEIVED!”
I sputtered, “Huh? What? Why? When?”
She pointed a hooked claw at the clock. ‘YOU MUST PRODUCE SIX THOUSAND WORDS IN FIFTY-FIVE MINUTES!”
“WHAT?!” I countered, going dah-dah-do-jib-jib, “that’s impossible! Even Stephen King couldn’t do that!”
“You must,” she hissed, “and so must he.”
I turned. “He” was the young man whose life I had saved earlier in the week.
He, George, lounged sleepily on a bed behind black iron bars. He roused when I turned to him.
“Hey, Drax. What up.”
He had a million fucking needles sticking out of his arms. Clive Barker would have loved it.
“Drax,” he drawled, his eyes those of a zombie, “get over it.”
And then the librarian was hitting me, hitting me, and I loved it, and I woke up.